A Halloween Tale
by Lioness1
Summary: He kept the strange dreams buried within, but after Badon Tristan wishes to seek out the secrets of his family, and he returns to Sarmatia. First time trying a Tristan fic. Happy Halloween
1. Chapter 1

Lets say Tristan survives the Battle of Badon, and leaves Britain to pursue his visions that have tormented him for years. Sarmatia is being taken over by the Hun, and in this land long thought of by our hero, a destiny awaits. Kind of fast paced, I don't like the dally around. Enjoy. This is the first time attempting a Tristan fic.

He knew something dwelled within his soul; it was far more than a yearning to return to his homeland. It was a need to seek the truth in the visions that overcame him, the visions that crept inside only while he slept. It was in the darkness that he saw the same recurring dream, of his mother burning within, her screams fading as her body turned to dust. He awoke once more sweating, his breathing harsh and rapid. The yearning that he despised overtook him once more, eating inside his heart. He longed for what was forbidden but restrained himself. His thoughts drifted to the day before his mother had mysteriously disappeared. Her strange words repeated through his mind.

_"You are headed done a hard path, my son" she sadly stated, kissing him on the forehead. Tristan was merely twelve, but could track and fight as good as a grown man. His uncle had seen to his training since birth, teaching him the intricate ways of the eastern combat; unbeknownst to most Sarmatians. His Sarmatian father had died when he was just three. His mother was half Sarmatian, half Egyptian, one of the last royal descendents of the ancient empire. _

Her voice was always soothing, though it bellowed deeper than most of the village women. Her skin was the color of cinnamon, and even in a hot summer day her hands were cold as ice. Tristan took after his father in terms of looks; his skin was the color of the sand and his hair a dark brown. His personality without question shadowed his mother. He was quiet but kind, his spirit restless. He preferred the dark; the light sent shivers down his spine.

"I had the same dream last night, mother," the twelve year old Tristan repeated in his thoughts. "I heard you screaming."

She sighed heavily but attempted to smile. "They are just dreams, Tristan. They will stop…when you are ready."

"Ready for what?" he timidly asked.

"To meet your destiny."

A year after she had disappeared he was taken into the service of Rome, headed on a ship to a land called Britain. But the dreams still came.

He awoke once more as the sun made its way up into the sky, the light shining in through the window. The girl beside him did not stir, her hand well placed on his chest. Tristan rubbed his eyes, and got up. The girl moaned softly and turned over, her eyelids still closed.

Tristan titled his head, trying to remember who she was. Ah, yes, the blacksmiths daughter. She had been eyeing him for months, and finally after long hours of drinking he had let her come to bed with him. He swiftly tore off the sheets, leaving her naked body exposed on the bedas he stood up.

"Out" he declared, no emotion shown on his face. She looked around for the sheets, and then at Tristan.

She smiled and sat up, eyeing him as if she had conquered some prize. "Last night was amazing…"

He proceeded to putting on his pants without reply, as she stretched and fumbled to find her own clothes. Once she was properly dressed she went over to him and slid her fingers down his chest, kissing him fervently on the lips. "Will I see you again tonight?" she whispered.

He grabbed her hand and released it from his chest. "You had your fun. Now leave."

Taken aback, she narrowed her eyes in confusion. Tristan stared hard at her, willing her to go. She started to say something, but stopped, and instead packed up her things, mumbling under her breath. "A waste, you are…"

When the door slammed behind him, he walked over to the window. It had been months since the Battle of Badon, when he had nearly died from his wounds. But he did not die, and the wound healed quickly. He was always quick to heal.

He watched as Gawain and Galahad walked into the practice yard, unsheathing their swords. They began sparring and paid no notice to their witness from the window. Arthur was now King of Britain, and he had married the daughter of the Woad leader Merlin. In the short months since the battle against the Saxons, Arthur had set up his own army, with Gawain their commander. Tristan had only stayed this long to see that his friend was safe and everything was in order. Today he would tell Arthur his plan.

In the Room of the Round Tristan found his comrade, buried in parchments. "Your Highness?" Tristan called, bowing slightly.

A man in his thirties looked up over his work and sighed. "I believe I know what you are going to say, Tristan."

It was one of the few times Tristan smiled. "It is time, my Lord. My work here is done." To this Arthur nodded, though his eyes spoke of sadness at losing his friend.

"I knew this day would come, though I cannot deny I wish you would stay here. You are my eyes and ears, and my best Scout."

"Perhaps I will return. For now, my destiny lies elsewhere."

Two days later, Tristan walked his horse out of the stable as a few close friends gathered to wish him well. Guinevere approached him.

He bowed, and kissed the lady on the hand. "You take care of yourself, Knight. Don't forget you are welcome back whenever you wish." She beamed at him, and he nodded his head in appreciation, placing one hand on her stomach. He winked at her, though she looked back quite surprised.

Bors grunted and rolled his eyes. "Oh….make it quick, I got to take a piss…" he grumbled, giving his fellow Knight a large pat on the back. "Kill as many men as you can along the way. Atleast one of us will get some action…" He looked grudgingly at Arthur.

Gawain laughed and clasped arms with Tristan. "Careful of the Hun on your way. Rumor has it they're swarming the southeast, ready for war."

Tristan looked around, but did not see Galahad present among the semicircle. Suddenly a horse whinnied from inside the stables, and out emerged Galahad, dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, sitting atop his black mare, a look of sheer delight plastered across his face.

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "And where do you think your going?"

Galahad showed his teeth and winked. "Home."

Gawain rolled his eyes. "Come off it, Galahad, I thought you decided to stay?"

"Tristan?" Galahad, looking longingly at his brother in arms. Tristan thought for a moment, biting his lower lip. He was sure he was supposed to take this journey alone. It had been nice to think of taking a journey of solitude to clear one's thoughts. Still, their were advantages to bringing Galahad along. With Galahad comes excitement and adventure. He scratched the back of his head and cracked his neck.

"You better not slow me down" was his reply. All Galahad did was smirk in response.

It took several days to reach the southern port where they would cross the Channel into Gaul. Because of their release papers that were given from Germanus, they could safely pass through Gaul into Italy and then northeast toward Sarmatia. It would be a long, arduous journey.

The dreams were happening more frequently, with every step he took closer and closer to home his heart grew louder, beating intensely as his chest pains increased. As usual, he did not tell his comrade of his strange yearnings. Instead, Galahad took his mind off of it by visiting every local bar they could find, and spending the night at each inn with a new girl wrapped in tow. When towns were scarce, they slept under the stars, regaling each other with countless memories of knights long gone.

"You think Dag fancied Vanora?" Galahad asked one night in Gaul, sitting his back against the tree. Tristan laid nearby, not looking at his friend but smiling. They were on the border between Gaul and Italy, only a day's ride to the Mediterranean Sea.

"I suppose I'm the only one left alive that knows that story…" Tristan began, his mind wandering back years before. Galahad sat up straighter, intent on hearing Tristan's words.

"What do you mean?"

The Scout sighed, his left hand unknowingly playing with the grass. "Vanora was the first girl Dag ever took to bed, did you know that?"

Galahad's eyes widened. "You scoff! I was certain Bors was…well, atleast Bors thinks he is…does Bors.."

"Do you remember when Vanora lost her first child, and Bors was upset?"

"Don't tell me the baby was Dag's?"

Tristan shrugged his shoulders. "No one knows…Vanora took up Bors a few days after Dag, and from then on they were inseparable."

Galahad furrowed his brow for a moment, thinking heavily. "Dag's always been the brooding type…I suppose now that you mention it this would make sense, especially the way he treated Lucan." Tristan simply nodded, and began to close his eyes. Galahad was his last link to his life in Britain, and he did not know if he would ever set foot on the island again. The restlessness began filtering its way inside him, and he willed his body to rest, not wanting to deal with it anymore.

Somewhere deep within him, a familiar voice whispered, "_Soon, my son. Your destiny will come soon."_


	2. Strange lands, strange people

Chapter 2

The fire was getting hotter; his body writhed in pain as the flames scorched him alive. He couldn't hold it in any longer, his flesh was being eaten…he opened his mouth to scream….

"Tristan!" Galahad called, shaking his friend awake. Tristan burst open his eyes as the sweat poured down his face, his breathing unsteady. Galahad searched into Tristan's eyes, trying to calm him. "It was just a nightmare, mate."

Feeling embarrassed at letting his comrade see him scared, Tristan cleared his throat and nodded, not knowing what else to say. He turned over and pretended to go back to sleep, wishing the boy would do the same. Beside him, Galahad furrowed his brow, unsure of how to react. Never in 15 years had he ever seen Tristan so upset, not even when some of their fellow Knights died in their arms. Tristan was the type to contain his emotion, saving all his energy for fights, and go off in solitude later to release his feelings of anger or happiness. Galahad was the exact opposite. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and though he was a fighting force to be reckoned with, he never enjoyed killing, not even when the enemy deserved it. They were as different as night and day, Tristan and Galahad. He watched as the elder man's breathing went back to normal. He knew Tristan wasn't asleep, but he would not press the matter.

A few weeks after the incident the Knights lurked their way through the Germanian countryside, purchasing a new pair of mares thanks to Arthur's generous compensation given to return home safely through the Roman provinces. Though they had their Roman discharge papers, the Empire was crumbling and revolts were commonplace among the colonies. The thing that would satisfy anyone that got in their way, whether they be Roman or revolutionaries, was money.

Tristan awoke due to something small and foul hitting his shoulder. Jerking his eyes open, he sniffed in his nose and his face squinched due to the putrid aroma. Looking at his shoulder, he saw a large chunk of horse dung already staining his tunic. Looking up, Galahad was grinning widely. "Time to get up".

His eyes narrowed with thoughts of annoyance and revenge fresh in his mind. For half an hour he chased the young jester down, who weeved in and out of the edge of the forest. Tristan finally tackled him down, burying Galahad's face into his own horses' droppings.

"Having fun now?" Tristan said, a smile creeping its way across his mouth. Galahad was no longer grinning. Instead, he muttered curses and walked over to the nearby stream, washing his face extensively.

"You do ruin a good laugh, Tristan," he mumbled.

Tristan began saddling his horse. "Never mess with the best, young one. Especially one that enjoys his sleep."

Mounting up, they rode several hours before they came upon a road that led them to the next local village, located southward adjacent to a harrowing forest that engulfed the land. The fog it seemed, had rolled in with them, blanketing the town with its unforgiving mist. It was almost impossible to see over three feet in front of the horses, and the Knights decided to dismount and make their way to the inn by foot. Their mares neighed their discontent, struggling to walk forward. It was eerily quiet outside, as everyone must have been indoors. Knocking on the first tavern door, they immediately noticed that most of the villagers inside spoke a foreign tongue neither Knight had ever heard, but luckily one fellow pointed them in the way of the nearest inn, where the innkeeper understood enough to give them a room. The Sarmatian border and the Roman checkpoint was only a two days' ride east; and from there was thousands of miles of land to cover, through the endless fields of grass, sand, and eventually snow.

"Not a bad view, this inn." Galahad stated as he gulped his ale. The inside of the inn heavily contrasted with the creepy outdoors. Inside it was lively and filled with noise; a fiddler was even performing in the corner. He pointed over to the next table, where the girls giggled and kept looking over in his direction. He stared back, his back straightened and his head held high in confidence. Tristan scoffed and slunk back in his seat, occasionally eyeing the girls but not taking much interest.

Instead he focused on the fact that not just the girls were eyeing the Knights, and it disturbed him. Galahad paid the rough looking men no attention, his gaze fully on one luscious wench who was bolder than the others and came up to sit on his lap.

Suddenly the door opened, letting in the cold air. The fiddler stopped playing, too distracted by the state of the man who entered. He was old and frail, and his eyes gazed upon the crowd with a most vacant expression. But what caught the eye of the public was the blood that stained his clothes. "Murder!" he shouted, raising his arms in effect. A few of the nearby girls gasped, and the men began eyeing one another. To Tristan, many reacted as if this was not the first time they had heard this word.

The old man began raging in a language Tristan could barely understand….but through the man's actions he could see that he had just lost his son. A few of the nearby villagers prodded him with questions, and left soon after to go find the body.

Tristan approached the innkeeper. "What has happened?"

The innkeeper continued to wipe his counter as if this was yesterday's news. "Been another murder" he gruffed.

Galahad raised an eyebrow. "Another you say?"

The innkeeper looked up, rubbing his chin in frustration. "Been some funny things happening here lately. Two months past four girls were killed in the closest Sarmatian village. This is the second one to hit us in the past month."

"All girls?" Tristan enquired, curiously.

The innkeeper shook his head. "Both boys here. Strange deaths, they were. The old man here claims a monster killed his boy, though most folk think its just a rabid wolf scouring the countryside. Bites its preys, see, but completely butchers the body. Don't believe in monsters meself."

"Is that why no one goes out at night?" Galahad asked, referring to the eerie vacancy of the streets they had witnessed earlier outside.

Tristan looked back at the sobbing man who had just lost his son; he was now sitting in a chair as a few people tried to comfort him. A feeling of dread rose within him, as if all around him the inn became dark and shadowy, with all the villagers becoming gray spirits.

"You alright, mate?" Galahad asked, peering over at Tristan, whose skin had gone pale. A distant screaming erupted through the Scouts mind, though he knew no one else could hear it; because it was the same scream that he had witnessed for fifteen years, a calling that he couldn't contain.

He brushed the thoughts away and nodded at Galahad.

The innkeeper stopped his wiping and looked down at the Knights' outfits and weapons with extreme curiosity.

"Sarmatians, are you?" he enquired, one eyebrow raised.

Galahad nodded, unsure of where this man was headed with the conversation.

"Sarmatian Knights, actually" a voice from behind them spoke. Tristan turned around, his eyes focused on the bearer of that voice.

The stranger took of the hood that masked his face. Or rather…her face. The girl was no more than twenty, with long raven black hair, tied back. Her olive complexion and almond shaped eyes contrasted with the faces of the other villagers. Her cold stare was meant for Tristan, and it disturbed him greatly how far her milky brown eyes searched within his. She tilted her head and turned to his comrade, the younger of the two knights. The cold stare was gone, and was replaced with a nod that signified her initial overview of the two was over, and she was satisfied.

"And why would you guess that, my lady?" Galahad asked, instantly taken aback by her foreign look.

"Because she saw the crest on our sword tilts" Tristan answered, knowing that was what she would say. Indeed, her mouth twisted into a sort of semi-smile, as if she did not do it often.

"Very good. If I was to guess you two are the same Sarmatian Knights that defeated the Saxon army this past year, would I be correct?"

Galahad raised his eyebrows. "Tristan I do believe we're famous."

"Word travels quickly of great battles and heroic victories" she stated, taking a sip from her goblet.

"And why is one such as you so interested in us?" Tristan asked, getting straight to the point with his tone.

For a moment she repeated her initially stare, as if she was trying to dig underneath him to find some hidden secret. For the first time he looked beyond her face to assess her outfit, and was indeed surprised once more. She wore a man's tunic and breeches, with a dark forest green cloak covering her. What was really interesting was the curved sword she had sheathed on her left hip. She bit her lip, but then nodded. "I am Bree Xiaominh, and I hunt the immortal spirits" she stated, her tone passive.

Galahad spit out the ale he was gulping and wiped his chin. "You're a what?"

She looked down, expecting his reaction. "I fight the evils that humanity chooses to ignore as superstition."

As Galahad scoffed, Tristan eyed her with great interest. "Evil spirits, you say? Is that why you have come to this village? To slay whatever it is that is killing these people?"

She did not change her tone, and grinned at him. "I will try."

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She had obviously told others of her mission, and was used to being scoffed at.

Galahad blinked twice, the ale getting to his head. "Spirits indeed. The only spirits I see are right here in front of me. Wench! Another pint!" he called, raising his cup. Bree looked over at the Scout, twitching her nose.

"You have a question to ask, milady?" Tristan curiously asked.

She fiddled with her goblet. "I said my name was Bree. 'Milady' is a term used for a woman of nobility, and that I am not….and yes, I did wish to ask you why you and your friend venture so far from Britain. Going home?"

"A bit inquisitive, you are. And yes…we seek to return to the land we have been away from for fifteen long years."

"Ah. I see."

Tristan bit into his chicken leg and grinded it with his teeth. "You are of the East?"

She let a small laugh escape her. "Yes…I am Hun. Ironic, isn't it? My people are in the middle of a war with yours over claims of land."

He continued to chew his food. "And how is it that a young Hun girl travels thousands of miles searching for the supernatural?"

She did not reply with words, but Tristan saw beneath her exterior gaze the sadness that suddenly came upon her, like she was escaping some dark past. Seeing that he had noticed her change, she shifted her stare and gave her goblet back to the nearest wench.

"Perhaps that is a tale for another time. Forgive me, I must speak with the father of the murdered boy. Good luck on your travels." Her tone became polite and pleasant, as if this whole conversation was practice for a dinnertime etiquette class.

"Strange girl" Galahad remarked, finishing his pint in record time. The same wench from before giggled and once again plopped down on his lap as he kissed her ardently.

Tristan watched as the girl approached the mournful father, her own expression changing to one of sympathy. "That she is."

A commotion downstairs awoke the two Knights at the break of dawn. Peering down the staircase, Galahad noticed a crowd forming at the door of the inn, with the group anxiously looking outside at something.

Tristan walked passed Galahad and pushed himself down the stairs to the foot of the door. There stood the Immortal hunter, approaching the inn atop a wagon, with something covered in the back.

The innkeeper came outside. "Whats this now? Your disturbing my customers with all this racket. Explain yerself!" he shouted, pointing at the wagon.

With no hint of an expression on her face, she gave the reigns of the horses to a nearby stable boy and went to the back of the wagon. There, in front of all who crowded around to see, she lifted off the cover to reveal the carcass within. Many of the onlookers gasped.

Tristan himself widened his eyes in disbelief, peering over to see Galahad's same reaction. Inside the wagon was the body of a beast, too large to be a wolf but alike in form and face. Its head was larger, with longer fangs and yellow menacing eyes. Blood stained its side and belly. The most fascinating thing about it was the contours of its body. Its chest was almost, well, it was almost human in pectoral shape. The way its hind legs were longer than its front legs made it seem as if it could walk on just the back legs like a common human.

It was, as far as tristan could tell, not like any animal he had ever encountered.

"A demon…" one woman whispered to her husband.

"A hoax" another jeered.

"She caught the monster!"

Amidst the mixed views, the girl simply walked away from the crowd and towards the stable. Tristan followed her.

Inside he found her, sitting next to the door of her mare, her arms folded across her legs, with her head hidden beneath her knees. This was not the triumphant warrior girl he had seen minutes before. Instead he saw in front of him an exhausted girl who looked simply frail to the touch. She did not see him approach.

"I suppose you better stick around if you want the town to reward you…they think you saved their lives."

She looked up, dark circles appearing under her eyelids. Embarrassed at having him seen her in, well, a vulnerable state she immediately rose and began tacking her horse's equipment.

"The longer I stay the more skeptic they'll become. Soon this will be a myth to scare young children, not an actual event, and they'll forget what they saw, and start blaming that I simply killed a local wolf and stretched its skin, and they'll shout out that it was all a scam to claim their money" she spat out in one breath.

Tristan raised an eyebrow, tilting his head as he let the quiver of a smile form at the edge of his mouth. "I take it this has happened before."

She proceeded to saddle her horse, stroking the mare's neck in the process. "That's what you get for slaying werewolves."

"Werewolves?"

She smirked. "Lycans…monsters of the forest….half human, half wolf, full moon and all... They normally stay in areas north by the mountains. Folk in this area would think me mad if I explained this to them. Let them assess what they want and come up with their own interpretations."

Tristan said nothing, but helped her load her packages onto the saddle.

"I can't say I believe in monsters myself, but that…thing back there was pretty convincing."

At this comment she stopped what she was doing and stared into his eyes. "Now that I don't believe, Sarmatian. Seems to me you of all people would understand the supernatural."

Now it was his turn to look perplexed and annoyed at her sudden calculation of him.

"I don't quite follow you."

She rolled her eyes. "You are a rare breed, sir knight. Sorry if I got too close to the truth."

He narrowed his eyes, unsure of why she would say what she said. But instead of pursuing it, he looked at her sheathed sword. "May I?" he asked.

She hesitated for a moment, but agreed. He unsheathed it from her saddle and looked it over in admiration. It was unlike what the Romans or the Western Europeans used. Its curved, slim form made it useful for slicing instead of thrusting; it was much better for blocking. His own sword was of Eastern descent, one that many of his fellow Knights admired.

"A good blade" he simply stated. "May I ask…did you use it to kill the beast?" He held the handle out to her, and she took it, sheathing it away once more.

"It takes more than a blade to kill an immortal…" she stated, looking off into her own abyss as if he was no longer standing beside her.

After a moment her eyes narrowed back to look at him, as he eyed the design of her bags. For a minute she looked frightened by what she saw, but instantly regressed her expression and mounted up. "Take care, sir knight. Perhaps our paths will cross again soon…"

"Perhaps", he stated.

Without another word she urged her horse on, out of the stables and passed the crowd that still gathered around the wagon. Tristan emerged and went over to his friend.

"Have you seen the size of that thing?" he asked, completely surprised.

Tristan looked back at the wolf, whose yellow eyes glinted as the sun made its way up the sky. Something about what she had said struck him; the fact that she had seen something within him that caused her great fear, though she attempted to hide it.

Why would a werewolf slayer fear me? He pondered, as the rest of the morning Galahad and him spent getting ready to leave.


	3. Destiny

Chapter 3

Sarmatia. It seemed as if the world stopped when they passed through the checkpoint and made their way over the hill. From there one could see endless fields of green and yellow, and as a light breeze past through them Galahad sniffed the air, remembering everything he loved about his homeland.

Galahad looked at his companion and grinned. "Did you ever think we'd see home again?"

It was different for Tristan. This was the Sarmatia he had merely passed through when he was a boy. His home was farther East, across a great desert and many mountains, where the air became colder and the sun was always hiding behind clouds of gray. The sun had always hurt his eyes; but in his true home the cold air felt like heaven against his body, and the onset of early nights thrilled him.

Still, he gave a slight smirk to his friend, and urged his horse forward. The problem with Sarmatians was that they were a nomadic people, always moving throughout the various seasons.

For two weeks they traveled, going northeast. Galahad was searching for his father, mother, and younger sister. They searched tribe after tribe, with no luck in sight. News spread that the Hun were vastly moving farther and farther west in the Sarmatian lands. Some told them to go back; there was little hope that the Hun would stop until they conquered all of Eastern Europe.

"Perhaps they fled into Gaul." Tristan exclaimed one night, as Galahad lit the fire in silence.

Galahad sniffed and laid down a few pieces of wood. He shook his head. "My father is too stubborn for such things. Sarmatia is his home, he would not leave it."

Tristan did not say aloud that it was very unlikely Galahad's family had lived through the Hun invasions for fifteen years. After talking amongst the nomads, it seemed the Hun killed all that would not leave.

Galahad kept his optimism as they went, and on one particularly cold evening, he found what he was looking for. They walked in on one of the tribes, just as the sun went down. This tribe lived near one of the few forests around. Fires were lit and many had gathered to see the newcomers.

Tristan let Galahad approach the group, as he stayed back near the outskirts. "I am looking for a couple; a couple by the name of Gildred and Eliza."

Tristan watched as the crowd looked at each other, and then to two people standing near the back, who were looking quite confused at the knight.

"What is it you seek with them?" One man called, apparently weary of the knights.

Inside Galahad lit up. "Then they are here?" he excitedly exclaimed, letting a smile appear on his lips.

"I am Gildred" a middle aged man spoke, coming forward with his wife. He was still a man who looked in shape for his age, with only a small beard and curly brown hair. But it was his eyes that gave him away. They were Galahad's eyes. Tristan let a smile escape him, as Galahad sat atop his horse, a look of shock plastered on his face. The woman beside Gildred shook her head and let tears roll down her cheek, to the confusion of her husband.

"Galahad!" She cried, running to the horse. By then a young girl in her teenage years appeared. A ripe beauty in Tristan's opinion. She clung to her father, unsure of her mother's reaction.

Galahad dismounted and embraced the woman that bore him. By now Gildred and his daughter had approached, and it was quite the tearful reunion. Tristan held back, letting his friend enjoy this moment.

"By the gods, look at you, Leah! Your all grown up!" Galahad said to his sister, giving her a tight squeeze. She squeezed back, her look of joy priceless.

After another moment of embraces, Galahad looked over at Tristan, and beckoned him to come over. Nerves weld up inside of Tristan, though he was unsure of the cause of it. It was unusual to see a family so loving toward one another.

"This my fellow Knight…my brother, Tristan."

For a month Tristan stayed with Galahad's family, helping them prepare for the winter ahead. Eliza proved to be quite the cook, and took an immediate liking to the silent Scout. Gildred held him in the highest regards, often asking questions of their quests. Galahad felt at ease with his family, almost as if his years of serving in Britain were a nightmare to be disregarded. He took to helping his father, who was a blacksmith, and together they began forging various tools, weapons and things. The fighter inside him immediately left, and he no longer practiced his weapon maneuvers in the mornings, as the Knights had always done together in the past.

For Tristan, he became anxious to leave. Something new was aching inside of him, and the dreams started becoming more frequent. Galahad's sister Leah had taken a liking to him, and often went with him to do various chores. He liked her well enough, but never gave a hint that he would start something with her, though she tried often.

"Galahad speaks of you as if you are part of the family" she said one day after riding with Tristan.

Tristan did not reply, but instead began making his way into the forest. She followed him, untying her hair and letting it fall down on her back.

"Fancy a bath?" she asked, making her way over to the stream, a grin on her face. She had lovely features to her. Soft brown eyes, cream colored skin and a body that developed quite nicely.

"I took one earlier, thanks." he stated, trying to be polite.

She raised her eyebrows and began taking off her clothes. "Well, I haven't." She walked into the stream, caressing her naked body with water as Tristan watched. He turned around and gave her some privacy.

"You're welcome to look" she called, but he did not turn around. Galahad would kill him if he tried anything with her.

Instead Tristan looked at his surroundings, carefully noting the dead silence of the forest. The days were getting darker earlier and earlier now; a sign that winter was approaching. Something unusual filled inside him, letting his eyes become drowsy. For a split second, he thought he heard a voice, but there was no one close enough to whisper.

"Leah, I think we had better leave" he said, turning around. Right in front of him she stood, placing her wet and delicate fingers on his chest. She was dripping from her bath, but did not put her clothes on. She let her fingers run up his chest and on to his face, and he could feel her breath on him.

"How long has it been since you had a Sarmatian woman, Tristan?" she whispered, and leaned closer. At first he resisted, moving away, but she followed with each step. Finally she pressed her whole body onto him and reached for his hand. She placed his hand on her breast, but he would not look at her. A passion rose within him and he kissed her fiercely, giving in to her desires as he wrapped his arms around her. She moaned slightly and ran her fingers into his hair, her lips eager for more.

Up on the tree above them, a single raven sat. But soon more and more came, perching themselves around the adjacent trees. Their caws began, and Tristan let his lips part with hers. A group of ravens was a bad omen.

"No more" he whispered, still wishing to quench his lust but letting his instinct get the better of him.

"What?" she said, opening her eyes.

"Not now. We must go" he simply stated, walking over and picking up her clothes. He passed them over to her. She still bore a look of perplexion, mixed with slight annoyance.

"Now" he called again, this time more sternly. She began dressing, and they soon headed back to the encampment.

Galahad watched as they approached and raised an eyebrow. "And what may I ask were you two off doing?"

Leah looked at Tristan and cleared her throat. "I was showing Tristan the berry bushes."

The mother smiled, and looked to her husband, who seemed to be deep in thought. Tristan wanted this topic to end. Galahad nodded. "Oh, I see…because he's probably never seen anything as interesting as berries, right Leah?"

Leah blushed but said nothing. After dinner Galahad walked outside with his friend.

"

Galahad, I believe I will leave soon" Tristan began.

Galahad looked at his friend and sighed. "If it is because you do not think I would approve of you and my sister together…you are right, I don't But I won't stop you either. You are my friend, Tristan, and I'd rather her be with someone I can trust."

Tristan raised his eyebrows. "Oh, no. That's actually not where I was going with this. Your sister's lovely, Galahad, but my path lies somewhere else."

Galahad nodded and looked down at the ground. "When will you leave?"

"Tomorrow."

"Well…can't say I want you to go, but I understand that you are bound to nowhere and no one."

Tristan took a bite of his apple and munched on it. "I wouldn't say that…perhaps one day….when I find what I am looking for."

Galahad stretched out his arms. "Well, you have one more night. Lets make the best of it…I'll go get us some drinks."

Tristan awoke in the middle of the night, when all were sound asleep. He was sweating profusely, and inside his head he heard the same whispers from the forest. A new dream had occurred, and in it he was walking by the stream where he had shared a kiss with Leah…only this time she wasn't there. A single raven cawed nearby, and it was then that he had awakened.

He silently got out of his hut and saddled his horse. No one saw him leave, and he made his way in the pitch black toward the forest nearby. Inside the trees the air was much colder, and a strange mist surrounded him. It was hard to see, but he made his way to the stream where he had been earlier that day. There he heard a single raven make its call, though the rest of the forest remained silent. An eery feeling befall the Scout, as he began to smell something rather unusual.

A branch behind him snapped, and he whipped out his sword, ready for the attack. "Show yourself!" he called into the night.

For a moment nothing happened…but then the whispers came. They came from all directions and Tristan twisted his neck to try and follow the source of them. Finally a lone voice stood out.

"Turn around Tristan."

Tristan turned, and the moment he did, he dropped to his knees. There before him, stood his mother, not a day older than when he remembered her. The only difference was that she was a lot paler. She was dressed in a black cloak, and her raven black hair covered her shoulders. She lifted out her hands and touched the cheeks of the Scout, her fingers going over the tattoo that she had marked on him years before.

"My son," she whispered, a single tear escaping her eye.

Tristan found himself in a shock, unable to move as he stared up at the mother he thought dead.

With her arms she made him rise to face her, and he found he could not embrace her as Galahad had done with his parents. Though her eyes spoke of heartache and joy, there was something cold lurking behind.

Finally he spoke, though his voice was scratchy. "Where have you been?" he asked, trying very hard to remain expressionless.

A look of pity crossed her face as she tilted her head. "I'm so sorry I left you, my son. It needed to be done."

He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Why?"

She bit her lower lip and sighed heavily, as if she had been waiting for this moment for years. "Because it is the way it needed to be. You had to be on your own before you went to Britain."

Her words were strange to Tristan and he was not sure her meaning behind them. She picked up the sword he had dropped and smiled. "Your father would have been proud of your accomplishments."

He began pacing back and forth, putting his hands over his neck in frustration. "What is it you want from me? Why appear to me now, mother? Why not years ago?"

She kept her tone strict. "Everything has gone according to plan. I was to appear to you only at the right moment, Tristan. Do you remember when I said your dreams will stop when you are ready?"

His expression changed, and he furrowed his brow trying to remember that day. "You said when I was ready I would meet my destiny."

She began circling him. "Tell me Tristan, do you know why you prefer the dark? Do you know why every time you take a life instead of feeling sorry you relish it? Do you feel as if your path leads down a strange road?"

It was unnerving that she knew these things….but in its own way a relief that someone else shared his true feelings that he had kept hidden for so long.

"How is it that you know this?"

She smirked. "You are of my blood, Tristan. You possess the same thoughts and feelings I do. I feel your pain."

He rubbed his face, making sure this was not another dream. "What do you want from me, mother?"

"I want you to meet your destiny, my son. But first you must trust me."

He almost laughed. "That is a little hard to do considering you have popped out of nowhere and told me all this."

"There is much to explain, and I will answer any questins you have…but first I must have your trust, Tristan. You must let me in."

He grunted and put his hand on his hips, looking away. She slowly walked over to him, and with her fingers she turned his cheek to face him. She let her eyes bear down into his soul, almost the same way Bree had. He began to feel weak from her touch, and he gulped in his fears.

"trust me" her voice wavered.

He let a wave of emotions overtake him, and he let her embrace him in a way he had never felt before. She clung her arms around him.

"Do you trust me?" she whispered.

"Yes" he whispered back, unsure of why he said that. His eyes began to blur, and he shook his head.

Still caught in the embrace, Tristan's mother's eyes began to change. No longer were they a milky brown, but instead they swirled into a bright yellow, though tristan could not see. He let her continue to hug him, though inside he wanted to let go and leave.

She opened her mouth, but not to speak. In an instant her fangs dug into the skin of his neck, his whole body feeling the effects of it. He cried out, and tried to push her off him, but found her strength overwhelming. "What are you doing!" he cried, pain erupting within him.

A voice now spoke in his mind, engulfing his thoughts. "It will be over soon. You must trust me…" the voice said. He tried to speak again, but found he couldn't. His body was becoming weaker and weaker as she gulped in his blood. His vision blurred, and he knew death was near. An array of images came through his mind: Of his mother happily lifting him up as a little boy, of his friends long gone playing tricks on each other and laughing, of his drunken escapades with loose women. Every happy thought he had ever had seeped through him, calming him. She made sure he only thought of happy times as she drank.

Finally, she let go, and he fell to the ground, almost unconscious. She held out her wrist to him. "Drink, my son. It is the only way you will survive."

Against his instincts, he did as she told him, and found that his teeth were enlarging and much sharper. He bore into her wrist as she winced, and he tasted a drop of her blood. The blood. It was like an ecstasy in his mouth, something so enticing he needed more and more. He felt his body becoming alive again, and it yearned for the taste of it. It begged him for more, and he gave in, sucking it out of her.

She pushed him away, not able to risk him having anymore. He hit the ground hard, the yearning still writhing within him. He felt empty the instant the blood was gone, and instead of becoming unconscious he began to feel a horrible sensation rise within him. His insides wanted to explode and he jerked around on the ground, yelling out profanities as he was being tortured.

It was a pain so great he had never experienced it before. Not even when he was being slashed and cut in battle. This pain went past the bodily pain and wriggled itself into his soul. He gasped for breath, lifting his head as his eyes blinked ferociously.

And then it stopped. The suffering, the torture. He wheezed heavily, unsure of what was happening. His eyes felt strange. He could see everything in the dark clearly. He let his finger touch one of his teeth, and found they had gone back to normal. He lay on the ground, continuing to gap for air.

His mother wiped the blood from her lips and smiled. "You will be weak until you feed, Tristan. It is normal. When you are strong again I will explain what has happened.

He tried to speak, but found it very hard. He was exhausted, and the yearning for blood remained within him, eating at him. His mother stopped her stare, and looked behind her. Instantly she vanished, just as someone else came into view.

"Tristan!" Leah called, running over to him. "Whats wrong? By the gods, there's blood everywhere!" She held up his head and searched for the source of his blood.

"Where are you wounded?"

He shook his head.

"Galahad was afraid you had left without saying goodbye. But you wouldn't do that to me Tristan, would you? He'll be here soon…I told him you might come here." She wrapped her arms around him.

He stared at her, first in shock and then with pure lust. Though he was still weak, he grabbed her hand and kissed her fervently on the lips. She missed him back just as passionately, placing her body on top of his. She hurriedly began unbuttoning her dress, and Tristan grabbed it, tearing it instantly. "I've been wanting this, Tristan" she whispered, closing her eyes. She began kissing him once more, unbuttoning his tunic as well. He touched her back, her hair, her breasts, but nothing was satisfying him. The lust was becoming greater.

He began kissing her cheek, her back, and slowly he made his way over to her neck. It was soft and pure, and something inside of him burst. He bit at her skin, but only slightly. She giggled and let him continue. But his mind willed his teeth to change, and so did his eyes. They became a menacing yellow, as his teeth grew longer and sharper. This time he bit hard into her skin, and she screamed, trying to push him off. The taste of blood. He closed his eyes as the lust for it overwhelmed him, and once more bore down into her neck. He drank and drank, and as he drank he felt his body becoming stronger, stronger than he had ever felt. It was a feeling better than any sex he had ever had…it met his every need and he relished it. She continued to fight him, but soon her punches became softer, and softer….until her hand hit the ground and her body became limp. But Tristan did not realize this. All he could think about was the power and the euphoria he was tasting.

Her body was still on top of his when Galahad approached. "Leah?" he whispered, seeing her atop of him. But she did not rise. "Tristan?"

Tristan could hear his friend, but only in the distance. He continued to drink her blood, and Galahad stepped closer. Upon seeing what he was doing, his eyes widened in horror and he lifted her body off of him, bringing her over a few feet away.

"Leah?" he cried, stroking her hair as he rocked her. Her eyes were closed, and already her skin was pale and cold to the touch. Her mouth was open, and he touched her cheek as tears slid down his face. "No" he whispered, burying his face into hers.

Tristan lay a few feet away, off in his own world. A power he had never felt before rose within in, and he wiped the blood stains off of his teeth with his tongue, sighing in pleasure.

A second later Galahadwas on top of him, punching his face with his fist, screaming "What have you done!"

Tristan awoke from his delusional rapture and saw his friend staring at him with tears in his eyes. "Galahad…what…"

He turned, and saw the body of Leah only a few feet away. In his mind he pictured his teeth crunching into her flesh, draining her of life. "No" he said, shaking his head. "I did not do this."

Galahad sat up, his face pale and shaking. He took out the knife from his left ankle. "I'll kill you!" he shouted, thrusting towards Tristan. Tristan, now fully strengthened and aware of what was happening, blocked the thrust and backed up, shaking his head violently. "it's not what you think..I didn't mean…"

Galahad's eyes were narrowed in fury. "You killed her…..you…my trusted friend….you raped and murdered my little sister!" he screamed, his voice cracking. He thrusted again, but this time tristan kicked it out of the way and wrapped his fingers around Galahad's throat, lifting him off of the ground. Never before had he possessed such strength, but right now he wasn't thinking of the fact that he could lift his friend up with only his left arm.

"Going to kill me too, brother? Please…it would be a blessing…" Galahad struggled to say, and Tristan's fingers tightened.

Scared of what he was capable of, Tristan let go, and Galahad fell to the ground, coughing profusely. He did not know how to react. His hands were shaking with fear, and the only thing going through his mind was the fact that he had just killed a girl, and he had enjoyed it. He began to run, into the woods and away from his comrade.

"You can't hide, Tristan! I'll find you!" Galahad called after him.

Tristan ran deeper and deeper into the forest, unsure of where he was going. This had to be some sort of nightmare…suddenly his sense alerted him that he was not alone and he turned, facing his mother once more.

"You have done well, my son. But now you must rest." Something hit him, and his eyes blurred, and he let darkness claim him.


	4. Discovering truths

Chapter 4

He felt nauseous as eyesight returned to him, and he could feel the blankets that enwrapped him. It was cold, and the only sounds to be heard were soft screeches of the cave inhabitants.

Tristan sat up, praying that what he had last remembered was only some horrible nightmare. But then he saw her.

She entered the cave, her cloak switching from a dull brown to a luscious red instantly.

"Witchcraft" Tristan whispered to himself, his eyes narrowed in disgust.

She smiled at him. "I was hoping you would wake soon."

Immediately he lunged forward, as he had done to his enemies many times before, but she merely opened the palm of her hand. He stopped right before he could reach her, his body unwilling to move.

"What are you!" he shouted, anger rushing within him.

She wavered her arm and his body flew against the wall of the cave, and as she lifted her fingers, so his body too, lifted farther and farther up the wall, his arms outstretched as if he had been bound.

Tilting her head slightly, her dark eyes stared into his. "I am your mother Tristan. What I am about to tell you will be hard to hear, and it may take time to understand. I am an immortal."

He clenched his fists, trying feverishly to unwrangle from her power. "A sorceress?"

For the first time he heard her give a great bellow, echoing throughout the cave. "Hardly. I am the last of an ancient race….of a royal line that stretched back thousands of years. I am neither human nor beast; I am a vampire."

Tristan's eyes widened with both horror and skepticism at these words. Of course he had heard the tales of such creatures…how they preyed on humans, sucked their blood…but it could not be that his own flesh was that of a monster!

He shook his head. "It's not possible. They say vampires cannot survive in daylight."

Again she smirked, pacing back and forth as she eyed him amusingly. "That may be true of many of our brethren. But I am their queen. It would take more than mere sunlight to destroy me."

His breathing was rapid, and never before had he felt such terror rise within. "What have you done to me?"

"You are unique, my son. Born neither fully vampire…nor fully human. Never before in over five hundred years had one of my half breed children survived. But you…I had hoped this day would come. You see, when I gave you my blood to drink, I gave you my power. In you I have created a whole new breed of vampire…and from your offspring you will yield vampires that will be impenetrable to sun and wooden daggers! You are our hope, my son…..my Prince." As she spoke, she bowed before him, a tear sliding down her cheek in pride. Tristan did not know what to say. He didn't know what to think. Could her words be true?

For a few moments neither spoke. Finally, Tristan bit his lip. "I killed an innocent girl. Is this the kind of power you wish me to use?"

She touched his cheek gently. "I don't expect you to take all of this in right away. You have believed yourself to be human for thirty years. One day soon you will realize that humans are nothing but ants…ants that need to squashed in order for our kingdom to rise. It is their destiny to fall."

Tristan felt exhuasted…drained by her words. She sensed this, and with a flick of her wrist, he fell off the wall and unto the ground. Once more he had control over his body. His mother walked over to the entrance of the cave. "I will give you one year to get used to your new self…and consider what I offer you. The chance to rule the world, my son. In one year I will come for you, and together we will unite with our brethren and purge the earth of these foul humans."

"I will never join you…I will never kill like you," he said, barely audible above a whisper. He dared not look at her.

She smirked once more. "You are immortal, Tristan. Sooner or later you must feed, and you will realize how cruel this world is to our kind." Before his eyes, her body began to squish as her color changed, and instantly a raven now flew away, her laughter ringing maliciously in his ear.

Tristan did not leave the murky cave for hours. He sat against the wall, hitting his head occasionally as he let all of his emotions out. He rubbed his face with his hands, praying over and over to make the dream end. He could feel the newfound power within him rise as he let out his anger. After night had fallen he emerged from his hiding, his stomach strangely growling, though his mind did not hunger for food.

Even the dark seemed different. He could see clearer than ever before; his eyes and ears attuned to all of his surroundings. Soon the rain began to fall, first lightly and then angrily, drenching the ground and his body.

"COME BACK HERE!" he shouted as thunder began to sound in the distance. The wind howled as the skies unleashed their fury against the land. "YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!" The only response came in the form of lightning.

"I WILL FIND YOU, MOTHER! I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN, AND YOU WILL NEVER GET WHAT YOU WANT! YOU HEAR ME! I WILL DEFEAT YOU!"

For four days Tristan fasted in the forest, the kills of game never filling his taste. He could feel himself growing weaker. He hid from the caravans of humans that made there way along the forest paths. Tristan refused to leave the cave, hoping that his mother could return and tell him more.

He tried feeding off the blood of deer and rabbits, but it would not strengthen him. After three weeks his belly writhed with excruciating pain, a sting greater than any wound he had been given in battle. He could barely move. A month had passed, and all he could do was bare the pain. He knew her words to be true, and this not of any nightmare. A thousand questions burned within him. Mother left out something…he thought. Why did she make it seem imperative that he join her? If he did not choose her 'side' so to speak, what would happen? "I will not kill to live, mother. I will not become a monster" he whispered, almost smirking in the thought that he would choose his own destiny.

He gripped his sword in his hand, and closed his eyes, seeing the faces of his fallen brothers in arms. I will see you soon. With one last prayer, he buried the sword deep into his gut. Seeing the blood escape him, he lay, awaiting the death god to claim him. Two days later he still lay in the woods, the wound healed, but the pain beyond bearable. His suicide attempt had not worked, and he could hear her voice laughing in his head. "You are immortal, Tristan. And one day you will join me".

Her voice vanished as he soon heard closer and closer.

"Father! Father! There's a body over here!" a young boy exclaimed. Tristan heard a larger man approach. "Simon, get in the wagon with your sisters."

Tristan titled his head to look at the man, his strength completely gone as he took in harsh breaths.

"By god! Mariam! Get blankets! This man is still alive!" Tristan peered up to see two concerned eyes stare back at him.

Tristan could only remember bits and pieces of the journey southeast. Several small faces curiously looked in on him from time to time. "Almost home", one said to another.

Tristan could no longer understand time, but presumably a few hours later his body was carried from the wagon into a house built of wood. He was placed on the ground near the fireplace, but the warmth could not extinguish his agony.

The man who had rescued him put water to his lips, though Tristan could not taste anything. "Please", he whispered hoarsely. "Leave me be."

The man, unsure of Tristan's reply, went to his wife in another room to discuss their new guest. His vision was blurry, but Tristan could tell three small pairs of eyes were watching close by.

The son, a boy of eight or nine, approached slowly. "Are you going to die?" he asked bluntly. The girl, a few years older than her brother, smacked the boy on the head.

"Shoo with ye. Forgive him, sir…he does not know how to be polite." The sister had long chestnut hair and bright green eyes. She smiled at the strange man before her. The third child, a girl with black hair, hid behind a chair.

"Well he looks like he's going to die" the boy stated, annoyed by his sister's authoritative tone.

Tristan tried to speak once more. "I assure you, death will not take me…" He winced as his belly once more prodded him for blood.

The man and his wife returned, ushering their children away as the wife doused Tristan's forehead with a damp cloth. "Your ice cold to the touch, stranger."

"What is your name?" the father asked. The fire cracked its song behind Tristan.

"Percival" Tristan said, not wishing to give his real name. Instead he had chosen to give the name of a fellow Sarmatian knight that had died years before Arthur had become king.

"You are very ill, Sir Percival. It's a miracle you've clung to life this long, but my wife says she cannot place what illness has befallen you. I'm afraid there is not much we can do."

The pains were rising within Tristan once more, and this time he could not contain his agony. His shouts startled his saviors, and immediately the wife searched to find the source of his cries.

"Please…just leave me be" Tristan pleaded.

The husband and wife looked at each other. "Nonsense. We'll do what we can for you, Percival."

Seeing that they would not leave him, Tristan closed his eyes in weariness. "Then place me away from your children. If my sickness is contagious, I would not want my bad fortune to befall you."

The words worked, and soon the kind couple placed him in the stable, away from the children. "Where am I?" Tristan asked.

"Mordua. West of the Naga Province." _I am farther east than I thought_, Tristan thought to himself. When the couple left him, Tristan tried to get up, but found it impossible.

Mother was right….he thought. _I can't die. This pain is as bad as the Christians make their hell out to be. I must feed, if I don't, I could hurt someone again without realizing it…like Leah…_his eyes searched the stable, until they rested on the only horse. Each second seemed to make him more delirious. Mustering up all the strength he could, he crawled over and unlatched the gate that kept the horse locked in. It was gray with white spots, and it neighed. Tristan had always been good with animals, and they had always taken nicely with him.

"I'm sorry" Tristan whispered, and willed his mind to change the length of his teeth. Baring down into the horse's neck, the mare gave out a loud cry, and Tristan drank as much as he could. The horse swaggered and fell to the ground, as Tristan continued to feel the energy inside him grow. The pain was subsiding, and that utterly sinful feeling of joy purged within, making him delirious to everything around him. He drank and drank, even as small footsteps approached, followed by a child's scream.

"Father!" The boy, Simon, had cried, running back into the house. Tristan barely heard it, but saw the man return, pitchfork in hand. Tristan released his fangs from the horse, blood dripping down his chin, his eyes bright yellow.

"It's a monster! Mariam! Gather the children and run!"

The once kind man now lunged at Tristan, and Tristan ducked out of the way.

"Please! I mean you no harm!" he said, as the man swung violently again. Tristan grabbed the pitchfork and smashed it in two. "I did not mean for this.."

"Stay back! I won't let you touch my family!" he said, a slight whimper escaping his mouth.

Tristan raised his hands in defeat, not wanting to hurt anyone. The man looked left and right, and took hold of a nearby horseshoe pick. "Get down on the ground!" he shouted, as Tristan's eyes returned to a normal brown and his teeth shortened. Tristan did as the man was told. _Just run away_, his mind told him.

Mariam entered the stable, two dogs wrapped in tow, and released them from their chains. Immediately they snarled, rushing toward Tristan like predators. He did the only thing he could do; he clawed out at one, lunging for the other with his legs. They bit at his legs and arms, and Tristan winced in pain. The only way to escape was to kill the dogs, so he clawed again, striking one in the eye as it howled its pain. He dug his fangs into the other, throwing it across the stable as the man and his wife watched in horror.

Something hit his back, and he turned, crushing bones in one powerful clench of his hand. Immediately his hand retracted, as he saw the boy fall limp to the ground. The child, Simon, had silently attacked from behind, and Tristan accidentally snapped his neck with one hand. "No…" Tristan said, not believing his eyes. Flashes of Leah came to his mind, and he could not escape them. The father thrust the horseshoe pick into Tristan's back, part of it protruding from his gut as he heard the howls of a mother as she clutched her dead son. But Tristan was not weakened by this. He extracted the weapon and threw it on the ground. Taking one last look at the couple, he fled from the stables into the fields, terror gripping him once more. Inside he heard her laughter.

_"Every man is tested in different ways. Each of us must search the depths of our souls to find the peace that we desire. For some, fate's will is too strong, and they succumb to what they most fear, never reaching tranquility." Percival said as they scouted the northern border for Woads._

_Bors spit on the ground. "That's beautiful mate. Poetic. I've got to take a piss…" he mumbled as he left the campfire. Tristan sat against with his back leaned against a tree, as Arthur came and gave him a bowl of hot broth._

_"Do you agree with Percy here?" Tristan asked, subconsciously scouting out his left eye at the wood beyond._

_Arthur sat down next to him and sighed. "Though I believe God has ultimate control over my destiny, it is man who must choose the way in which he will live his life. It just may not work out as he expected. As to this 'every man is a tortured soul' ideology, I believe we all wish to find hope that something better occurs because of our actions here on earth."_

_"You and your God" Lancelot said, coming in on the conversation. Tristan had heard Lancelot mutter those words with a smirk many a night with Arthur. He leaned in closer as if revealing some secret. "Find happiness in the bed of a beautiful woman, and leave this doomed spirit horse manure at the foot of the bed as you caress her assets with a large smile on your ugly face." All of them laughed whole heartedly, as Bors returned from his midnight piss._

_"You alright there Bors?" Galahad asked, dipping into the pot to pour more broth into his bowl. Bors shot him a look that would make any grown man gulp._

_"It's going to be a long night, wenches. I pity the man who has to sleep next to me…the broth isn't sitting well…"_

Tristan awoke before dawn, immediately ignoring the dream of past times as a knight. You're on your own now, no use in remembering good times, he thought. Two agonizing weeks had past since his ordeal at the farmer's house. Tristan had made his way into the nearest town and, upon stealing one of the horses, set off eastward, no clear goal in mind.

The screams of the mother replayed over and over in his mind until he felt he would go insane. When he had ridden his horse too hard, he thought it best to strengthen and do away with it. Feeling braver, he entered one of the local towns one night and sat down for a pint at the pub. Looking around, it was almost like people knew he was different. A few kept their hands near their sheathed swords, as if they had smelled trouble with this one.

Even the taste of ale would not help. He clenched his fists to keep from lashing out at the staring onlookers.

One man, around Tristan's age with curly blonde hair was brave enough to approach the loner. Tristan, ever the scout, immediately took notice to the tattoos on the man's neck and around his wrists where the cloth exposed skin. Several piercing protruded from his right ear, and he carried on his belt a single weapon; a small dagger intricately embellished with tracery designs. Tristan could straight away tell this man was from Gaul, perhaps from a northern seaport province by the look of his clothes and hairstyle.

The blonde placed his pint in front of Tristan and sat down without invitation. He was pale, paler than most people from the west. Tristan wondered if possibly he had spent many years a prisoner in some dark enclosure.

"You're not paranoid. They can feel the anger within you." He said mysteriously, gushing down his ale with ease.

"Good to know…if you'll excuse me…" Tristan got up and left the pub, noticing the many stares that followed behind him. A quarter of a mile he walked up the local road near the mountain pass. Picking up a human scent, Tristan unsheathed his sword with lightning speed, but the man behind him was too quick and deflected the blow with his hand, knocking Tristan's prized sword to the ground.

Caught by surprise, the stranger smirked and handed Tristan back his weapon. Bewildered, Tristan took it with his eyebrow raised, awaiting his stalker to speak.

"You're one of us, aren't you? A creature of the night?" he excitedly exclaimed, once more catching Tristan off guard.

"Do I carry a scent or something?" Tristan asked honestly.

"And you've still maintained a humor…interesting…" The Gaul now paced around Tristan, inspecting him silently. "You must have been bitten recently, since I easily deflected your sword."

A bit hurt in his pride, Tristan sighed. "How many of you are there?"

The Gaul smiled. "Us, brother. How many of US are there" he corrected. "In all my travels I have only encountered a dozen or so, though I have heard tales that a secret society of hundreds of us dwell in the high mountains to the north."

"Where darkness out ratios daylight. Fitting. And how did you decipher that I was of your kind? Or were you sent to find me?" Thoughts of his mother flooded his mind.

The stranger guffawed, amused at Tristan's question. "You are young indeed. With time you will come to learn a great many things of our race. I was sent by no one, though that question in itself begs me to want to learn why you asked it. I am Braciaca."

"You are named after the Gaulish god of malt?" Tristan asked.

Braciaca smirked again. "More like intoxication. And believe me, the Gaels wanted to call me something worse, but I settled on this. It has an appeal to the female species" he said calmly, winking at Tristan.

The scout's eyebrows furrowed. "You mean to tell me you're a god?"

"Ha! You are quite the jester, young friend. The villagers at first thought I was a monster, but after a few hundred years I was raised to god-status. Funny people."

This was becoming a bit overwhelming for Tristan. The vampire continued. "Well, now that we know all about me, lets move on to you."

Tristan was about to reply when he heard the sound of a wagon rolling along the trail nearby. "Move" he called, but in turning back to the vampire, he quickly discovered that he was fifty feet south of where he had just stood. Tristan followed, and after the wagon past without seeing them, Tristan continued his interrogation of the vampire.

"How did you do that?"

"I can see this is going to be a long process. First, tell me your name, and we shall begin."

"Tristan." The vampire raised an eyebrow, but did not comment. Instead, they walked the rest of the night, and by morning had found Braciaca's cave; essentially his sanctuary during the day. Along the way Tristan merely stated that one night he had been bit by a vampire and the vampire offered him life, and Tristan took it. The vampire disappeared. Tristan took care not to mention his mother, as he still did not know what Braciaca was up to.

"Ah, home" Braciaca stated as they entered the dark cave as the morning sun crept its way up the sky. "I would offer you a drink, but we both know that doesn't quench anything."

"How do you survive?" Tristan asked bluntly.

Braciaca shrugged. "I feed." Seeing the look of horror on Tristan's face, he sighed. "I too once tried to fight it, long ago. The pain was unbearable. And soon I learned that these humans are merely pawns in a bigger scheme. They will die anyway you look at it, and personally I take comfort in the fact that they are at least dying so that I may have strength, rather than just simply dying from some ghastly disease or man's greed."

"Does it not weigh on your shoulders?" Tristan asked, barely above a whisper, as he looked to the ground.

Braciaca thought for a moment. "You have hurt someone close to you, that much is clear. It is a hard life we lead, believe me. I have endured centuries of it."

"Then how do continue to live it? Why not end it by walking out that cave into the sun? That's how you die, right? Or kill yourself with a wooden stake for that matter?" he shouted, his eyes narrowed.

Braciaca did not respond for a moment. Tristan was getting ready to think Braciaca must enjoy life, but the vampire soon spoke. "Because there is hope. Hope of a leader to come who will save our kind from the depths of these caves, one who will make our race the hunter, not the hunted."

Tristan's mind was racing. "Why do you think that?"

The blonde smiled. "Because of the prophecy."


	5. the brotherhood

Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews. Please read and review, even if you don't like it. i love constructive criticism, except grammar. I hate checking grammar, haha. Enjoy!

Chapter 5

"What prophecy?" Tristan inquired, in the depths of his mind already knowing it had something to do with his mother.

Braciaca cracked his back, looking out the cave as the sun awakened. "Perhaps I will share that particularly fetching tale tomorrow. For now is the time to sleep, brother. Regain your strength, and tonight we shall begin your training."

Narrowing his eyes, Tristan followed the blonde Gael's lead and settled down deep into the cave, away from the sun's prying stare. Still he did not trust the vampire, but for now, he was his only hope to learning the truth about his race.

They both awoke to the sounds of a nearby owl hooting his prized catch of the night. Tristan immediately felt both refreshed and hungry, and his companion began walking out of the cave. Tristan followed, unsure of what 'training' he was about to begin.

Braciaca walked past the edge of the woods toward a nearby twenty foot cliff, and unsheathed his beautifully designed dagger. Tristan instantly rolled his eyes.

"You should know I've devoted my entire life to weaponry tactics. I am no stranger to winning, and I hardly need training in it."

Braciaca smirked, and lunged towards Tristan, only he was faster than anyone Tristan had encountered. Tristan dodged left and right, missing by only inches and barely able to stay upright on his two feet. By the time he had unsheathed his own sword he felt the tip of Braciaca's dagger at his throat.

"You definitely were a knight, young Tristan. I am here to teach you neither sword maneuvers nor shield blocks. You must learn to use the instincts given to you by your maker. A vampire possesses power beyond anything a mere human could use, and it is your duty to master your new abilities. Speed will be our first lesson."

For the next month, Tristan learned the useful skills a vampire had. Besides record speed, Tristan learned that vampires could vanish into thin air and reappear within thirty feet of where they stood. His strength was that of four men, and his eyes could sense the movements of others a good five seconds before they occurred. All these things Tristan could now do. In that month, the scout made Braciaca promise not to harm a human. To keep their strength, Braciaca honored that promise by stealing horses from the local village.

One night, after Tristan was finally able to beat Braciaca at swordplay, his companion laughed wholeheartedly. "You've advanced farther than I did in one hundred years, brother. Quite remarkable really." He looked at Tristan with newfound respect, and yet something strange lurked behind his smile. It was as if Braciaca was looking at Tristan like he was a god or something. Tristan thought it best to bring up the subject Braciaca was so keen to avoid.

He sheathed his sword and sat down on the grass. "You said you would tell me of the prophecy one day when I was ready."

Braciaca's infamous playful grin vanished. "One day, yes. Today? No. Why does it matter so much to you to hear it?"

Tristan was treading on strange terrain, and he had to answer carefully. He still did not tell Braciaca about his mother. "Because you seem so keen to keep it secret" he stated, trying his best to appear nonchalant.

The Gaul laughed. "It is probably just an old fable, my enigmatic friend. I will tell it one day…after we forget your noble notion of sparing human blood."

Tristan hated it when this subject was brought up. He stood up and went to the edge of the cliff. He could not look at his teacher. "I can't, Braciaca. I will not spill innocent blood."

Even from behind, Tristan could tell the Gaul was rolling his eyes. "That's the knight talking within you. You will see, it is not as bad once you do it a few times."

An image of Galahad sprang forth in the scout's mind…and then of Leah…of the boy…

"Stop thinking about the past, Tristan. That is not how we survive."

"Perhaps I don't want to survive" Tristan mumbled, though he knew Braciaca could hear.

A hand was placed on his shoulder. "Come. Dawn is approaching."

"Tonight we head into town." Braciaca happily stated, tossing a half asleep Tristan some clothes. "Don't give me that sullen look, I'll be on my best behavior. This is to celebrate your new skills."

"Is there more to learn?" Tristan asked, putting on the finely stitched garments. He did not want to know where his friend had gotten them.

Braciaca laughed. "Of course, my curious friend. Of course. Perhaps the hardest trick to learn is shapeshifting." Tristan thought back to his mother, and how easily she could transform from vampire to raven.

They arrived in town and entered the nearest tavern. Inside it was loud, as men laughed wickedly with giggling whores on their laps. A few older men tried their hand at gambling, and two were in the back fist fighting one another to the sound of cheering onlookers. The entire scene reminded Tristan of Briton.

Braciaca leaned sideways and whispered, "Now, you can't look brooding, Tristan. This is a night to celebrate." Tristan wanted to explain that even before he had turned into a vampire his friends had often complained of his brooding. He sat down at an empty table, and within seconds two rather finely physiqued girls came bearing pints of ale. Both smiled at the strangers.

The brunette took an immediate liking to Braciaca. "You must not be from around here. Your much more handsome than the local men…"

Her friend giggled and sat next to Tristan, rubbing his muscled arm with her fingers. "Yes indeed. You look as if you've seen battles."

Braciaca began kissing the girl on the neck and then down her chest. He looked over at Tristan, and mouthed the words 'I'll be good…'. The blonde sitting next to Tristan looked up into his eyes expectantly, hoping he was as good in bed as he was to look at.

"You seem tense, stranger," she stated, and began massaging his shoulders. At first he did nothing, a part of him scared as to what he might do, but soon his lips connected with hers, and he kept himself from going too far, though his new vampire urges were still present.

A few hours later, Tristan left the inn feeling rather proud that he had kept his urges contained, and the two began making the trek back toward the cave. Braciaca was all smiles. "Did you see the bosoms my girl had? So plump and juicy…and your girl, why she was quite the catch. And this was probably the first time in two hundred years I kept a girl alive…it felt different. Of course now I feel much weaker than normal, but I did as I had promised, you can't doubt me for that, brother…"

Tristan shook his head, the chatter of his friend too much to handle. Suddenly as they made their way along the forest road Tristan stopped. "Do you hear that?" he asked, a second later an arrow whizzed passed his shoulder and into the tree.

Five gruff looking men emerged from the trees, each holding a number of weapons. Raiders, Tristan thought. Braciaca smirked.

The biggest of the men came forward. "Your outnumbered. Give us your money, and perhaps we'll let you live."

Tristan looked to Braciaca, ready to put his new skills into action. Braciaca laughed at the thieves, his eyes turning devilish and yellow, his fangs beginning to form. Tristan concentrated, willing his face to do the same. The reactions of the robbers soon changed from smug to fear, and two began running away. Tristan used his speed to easily get in front of the two; their confused glances giving him a rush of excitement.

Tristan glanced over to see the other three lunge at Braciaca, but he easily blocked their weapons, throwing one in the air and killing another with his own sword. The last one tried to run, but Braciaca jumped on top of him, burying his fangs into the man's neck, sucking the life out of him with ease.

Tristan looked back on the two whimpering before him. One tried to thrust his dagger at him, but Tristan was too quick, and he snapped the man's neck as if it was a twig. The other started running, and Tristan used his new vanishing skill to reappear in front of the man, his urges pounding inside. His body was telling his mind to feed. It wanted blood. It needed the taste of human flesh. Tristan smiled, and dug his fangs into the man, a powerful wave of energy hitting him instantly as blood entered his body. He drank until their was no more to drink, and at last he sat back, his eyes returning to normal, his fangs retracting as he exhaled.

Braciaca approached him, blood staining his chin. He was grinning. "refreshing, isn't it?" he cracked his neck and sighed. "You indeed have mastered many new skills. Good job." Giving Tristan a pat on the back, he began making his way home again, stepping over the bodies of the raiders without a care in the world.

After the euphoria cleared out of Tristan's mind, he got up and passed over the bodies, a chill going down his spine. He had killed many raiders before, but never had their bodies looked so tortured_. Why should I care, _Tristan wondered_. I never used to care for an enemy, there's no point in starting now…_

That morning, Tristan slept better than he had in months. His body felt more invigorated and no nightmares came. _Perhaps I was wrong about all this_, he wondered. No one will care that a few raiders are dead. Death happens everywhere, everyday. Tristan had certainly experienced the deaths of friends and loved ones. And yet he had gone on. So will others.

Braciaca had once said, "The tiger kills because he must. He does not look at his prey and wonder how good of a life it has lived. It is not the fault of the tiger if the prey was chosen to suffer, because in the end the prey would have just become prey to something else at another time, so who are we to judge the tiger? It is doing what it was born to do."

Tristan had not told Braciaca that he could walk in daylight without fearing the sun. He awoke early, just before sunset, and decided that it was time to see the sun once more.

Heading east, he walked towards the town he had went to the night before. Inside the tavern was not busy, for many of the men were still hard at work in the fields or in town. He looked and found the wench that had taken a liking to him the night before. She saw him and ushered him in. It had been nearly six months since Tristan had felt the touch of a woman, and the night before had left him wanting her more.

"I had hoped you would return" she said sweetly. He stared into her eyes as she smiled brightly. He did not know her name, nor did he wish to. All he wanted was to lie with her, and feel the power that the union between man and woman gave.

"It won't be getting busy until after sunset…" she stated, biting her lower lip.

Tristan nodded, and with that she took his hand and led him upstairs into one of the many rooms of the inn. Locking the door, she smiled sweetly and pushed him unto the bed, undressing with ease. She does this for a living, he pondered. What kind of life is that? To spend every night with another man, giving away your most precious assets, all for the sake of a few coins, never living your life differently. She will not be missed by anyone, something inside him said. He would be doing her a favor, giving her pleasure in the face of death…

He undressed as well, and began caressing her body, feeling her lips with his own as she began to moan. They began moving as one, harder and faster until she groaned. When they were finished, she laughed and got on top of him, kissing his chest. He held her in his strong arms for a moment. "You are good." She said. "Probably my best."

He rolled his eyes, knowing her tricks. "And you are quite the little whore."

Taking it as a compliment, she let him get on top, and he began kissing her neck, that tender area that stirred so many urges within him. _It would be so easy…._his body told him. _She is someone's daughter_, his mind responded.

"If you want another go, I won't be cheap this time…it will cost you more, but now you know how good I am" she stated, giving him a devilish smile. He smiled back. Her life is worthless, his body told him. And this time his mind had nothing to say.

He exhaled loudly. "I'm afraid it will cost you more, milady." He bit innocently into her skin, and she giggled. He could feel the fangs coming, and the urges returned. Biting hard into her, she didn't even have time to think- his bite had penetrated deep into her, killing her instantly. Her eyes were wide open as he drank, and his body celebrated. He said a quick prayer to his gods, hoping they would send her soul somewhere nice.

Her blood had tasted better than anything else he had ever drunk. He did not wait around for guilt to come. Wiping his mouth clean, he put on his clothes and exited the inn. As he reached the edge of the forest, he looked back toward the town, where many people were running towards the inn. His mind thought back to Leah, but he quickly brushed away those thoughts.

_My life must begin anew_, he thought, walking back towards the cave. It was well into nighttime, and Braciaca was there, waiting for him. Upon seeing Tristan, Braciaca let his jaw drop slightly. Grinning, he patted his friend on the back. "Welcome to the brotherhood, Tristan."


	6. Escaping the past

Chapter 6

_"Tristan!" Arthur called as snow began to fall in the mountains. "Ride ahead" he simply stated. Tristan gave the slightest head nod, and did as his Roman Commander ordered. That was always his duty. To ride forth and warn the others of attacks. He had always had a sixth sense…something inside told him when a stranger approached. It was a gift he had even before a vampire had ever sunk its teeth into him._

_The Woads this time had expected him. The first arrow whizzed by the ear of his mare, and it took all of Tristan's strength to keep from falling off. He turned the reigns and ducked low, riding as fast as he could back to Arthur to warn his fellow knights. How did I not sense them? He pondered for a second, but the next arrow came and erased such thoughts. It pierced the back of his right side, the pain excruciating. He held on for dear life, but the next arrow caught his horse and down both fell, Tristan barely escaping the horse's body. Hitting the ground hard, he groaned and tried to stand, but found it impossible. Blood began to pour out of his side, and his eyes were suddenly heavy as snow blanketed him. He watched as the figures slowly departed into shadow, and the only thing to be heard was the harshness of the wind. _

_"Get hot water, Galahad!" Gawain commanded, lifting Tristan off his horse and onto the campsite, laying him down and covering him with blankets. The Scout began to stir, and his eyes soon registered that he was not lying alone in the snow. His body shook from the cold. He looked down and saw that half the arrow was broken off._

_"Look at me Tristan" Percival exclaimed. "We need to take out the arrow and clean the wound. You know how this works. Its going to be painful."_

_Tristan, whose head was pounding and eyes still blurry, nodded. He had seen this procedure done many a time. He only hoped his cries would not be loud._

_Lancelot readied the fire, putting the iron rod into it, the end of it blazing orange. Bors gave Tristan something to bite down on as Arthur removed the arrow from his back. Tristan winced and bit hard, the pain worse than when it had been shot into him. Breathing hard, he waited until the inevitable. He could hear Lancelot sigh; it took a lot of strength for a man to burn a friend. He poked the blazing rod into the wound, a sound of flesh sizzling heard by the knights. Tristan writhed with suffering and could not keep still. It took both Dagonet and Bors to hold him steady as Lancelot buried the rod further, making sure the wound was fully burned._

_After it was finished, Tristan tried his best not to whimper, and lay back down on his blanket, his head dizzy._

_Galahad put a hand on his shoulder, his eyes showing a sign of relief. "We thought you were dead, mate. When we were ambushed by the Woads, we thought for sure they must have killed you. Took a few hours to find you, half buried in the snow and all. Your face was all lifeless and blue. I thought for sure you weren't going to make it here"_

_Gawain rolled his eyes. "I'm sure that's making him feel loads better, Gally. Why don't you go run along and fetch the man a hot cloth?"_

_Tristan did his best not to smile as Galahad scampered along. The lad was still young, but his heart was in the right place. He looked around, and every single one of his companions showed signs of worry, though they tried their best to disguise it. They had not been in Briton long, but already there was a bond forming among the Sarmatian knights that went beyond their common ancestry; and even their Roman Commander was beginning to show compassion to them. _

_Lancelot showed his charming smile and smacked Tristan playfully on the cheek. "Glad to see that over with. I was afraid you were going to knock me out after I stuck a burning hot rod in your body."_

_Tristan sat up a bit straighter. "Believe me, I'm sure I'll return the favor someday." Lancelot's smirk immediately formed into a stiff frown, and he walked away as Bors laughed._

_"In all seriousness, Tristan. Its good to have you back among the living. You know I can't handle these sully pieces of manure without your rotten company."_

Tristan awoke to the sound of barking dogs. The girl lying beside him did not stir; indeed, she could not, for life was already taken from her body. Tristan listened as he heard footsteps approaching…many men.

"The monster's up here!" One shouted.

"He took the girl up there last night, I saw him!" Another exclaimed.

Gathering his clothes, he crawled out the window and unto the haystacks. In the past year he and Braciaca traveled northeast, stopping every couple of towns to bed a whore or steal a horse. Every town was the same. By the time the country folk figured out there were 'monsters' among them, Tristan and Braciaca would leave.

He did not always kill the women he slept with. Only once or twice a month did the urge for a woman's blood become overwhelming. Mostly it was raiders or outcast townsmen he preyed on. He learned quickly that if he did not think hard on what their lives were like, it was a lot easier to take it from them.

Braciaca did not discriminate his victims. Old, young, pretty or ugly, he did not care. The two moved quickly, never staying in one spot for long. On the nights they did not sleep in inns, they practiced honing their skills in the dark woods. It was getting colder everywhere they went. Snow often fell on them, but it did not matter. Warmth was not something a vampire needed. Tristan could still not master shape shifting; the closest he had ever come to was a half man half horse, to which Braciaca would not leave him alone on.

"I do say Tristan, you make a rather fetching centaur. You've brought an extinguished creature back to life, brother." To this Tristan simply rolled his eyes and sighed in frustration.

"Can't you be serious for one bloody moment! This isn't a game, you know" Tristan snapped, returning to his true form.

Braciaca raised an eyebrow and folded his arms as he leaned against a tree. "Not a game, aye? Why precisely are you learning these skills anyways, Tristan? Perhaps you plan to use them for more than just scaring away frightened villagers?"

Tristan looked down and grit his teeth. He still could not tell his friend the truth.

Braciaca looked hard into his fellow vampire's eyes, and then quickly looked away. "Well. Perhaps it is time to tell you of the prophecy."

The Scout smirked. "I know your prophecy. You think some vampire savior will come and make you all stronger and more powerful so that you can rule the world without hiding from mere humans."

"I find your answer quite amusing…especially the fact that you still refer to our race as separate from you. Is there something you're not sharing?"

"Is my guess true?" Tristan fired back.

Braciaca lifted his chin in defeat. "Partly. You make it sound so vicious. Perhaps I should share with you the facts I know. My maker…the vampire that bit me and made me the so called monster I am today; she told me a day would come when a human was made a vampire who was stronger than any other; a vampire who held the power to make our souls whole, and our bodies not afraid of daylight. We would no longer need the taste of human blood to survive, Tristan. We will no longer crave the deaths of mortals, since you still seem to have a lingering affection for a few human's well beings."

"How is this possible?" Tristan asked. If mother was right and I were the chosen one, then why do I still crave human blood? He asked himself.

"Only the one who can walk in daylight can retrieve the treasure that gives vampires limitless power. It is a treasure no human can withstand touching. It is the item that will rid us of our cravings."

"But don't most vampires like such cravings?"

Braciaca started to laugh. "Perhaps that is true. Over time blood becomes an obsession, as well as the process of draining it. But the euphoria…the power that comes with the blood…that can be given without humans anymore."

Tristan tried taking it all in. "I have heard things as well. I thought this prophecy had something to do with the children of the chosen one?"

Braciaca nodded. "Indeed, it does. If the treasure is retrieved, we can gain limitless power only by keeping a piece of it on us. The children of the Chosen one will inherit the power naturally, and a whole new race of vampire will be made."

"You said a piece of the treasure? Is it like some fabled jewel or something?" Tristan asked, scoffing.

Braciaca shrugged. "I wish I knew more."

Two days later Tristan and Braciaca rode into yet another northern town as snow began to blanket the earth beneath them. Taking off their heavy cloaks, they strode into the town inn and demanded two rooms. As usual, the girls were giddy with delight by the newcomer's arrival, and the men leery.

It wasn't long before the two men were approached by the villagers.

One burly chap offered to buy a pint of ale for each of the men. "Been hearing some mighty strange occurrences goin' on a bit south of here, friends. Word is two lonely type fellas have been killing the locals…folks say they're traveling north…" He gave Tristan a smile as he narrowed his gaze, searching for a reaction. Tristan gave him none.

Braciaca formed his own smile, and grabbed the burly man and his companions stools. "Matter of fact, we have. My companion and I are on a journey you see, to find these so called monsters…and kill em."

This statement made most of the inn hush with silence as onlookers appeared interested in the conversation. If Tristan wasn't so used to containing his emotions, he probably would have smiled at Braciaca's words.

The burly man appeared flustered. "How's about you gonna do it? I only see the one sword your friend has…"

Braciaca flashed his white teeth at the crowd. "With monsters you must use more than simple manmade weapons, gentlemen. Now, if you'll excuse us, we must rest before pursuing the demons."

"You mean you must rest during the day? Isn't that what the monster's themselves do?" a young voice in the crowd proclaimed. The face could not be found, but Tristan's heart beat faster as recognition hit home.

"Tis a bit peculiar that two men show up looking for two demons, when their own trail patterns the same as the monsters themselves" The voice was coming closer. Tristan kept his back turned, his hood staying over his head as Braciaca looked at the crowd.

"And what would you know of monsters, dear boy?"

"I only know one, and one well. I have searched for you many months, Tristan."

As his name was called, Tristan closed his eyes in pain. Slowly turning around, he took off his hood and stared into the eyes of his old companion. Galahad still had his boyish facial features, except for his eyes. His eyes were of a maddening sort, thirsty for blood and revenge.

Braciaca looked at Tristan in confusion, but could sense the displeasure in the young man's voice.

Tristan looked straight at his old friend, memories flooding back into his head, both good and painful. Briton, the Knights of the Round…Sarmatia…Leah.

"Have you forgotten what horrible deeds you have done to my family?" Galahad said hoarsely as he made his way forward amongst the large crowd.

Tristan could only look at him sorrowfully. "I never meant to harm anyone, Gally."

"DON'T call me that name!" He shouted, unsheathing his sword. The crowd quickly drew out of the way, though still making it impossible for anyone to escape. "You don't have the right to speak to me, much less call me a name that is meant for friends."

Tristan raised his hands in defeat. "What I did was inexcusable. But rest be assured it was an accident."

Braciaca whispered tactlessly, "I take it he was the knight whose sister you killed?"

Tristan did not respond. All he could do was look into Galahad's eyes and relive every ounce of pain he had wrought on that family's life.

"Go home, Galahad. Do not waste your life seeking revenge…even if you do kill me, it shall bring you no comfort."

"I'll decide that!" he shouted, running forth wildly. Tristan quickly blocked the blow and sent Galahad flying into the nearest table, cracking it open as he fell. As the crowd drew nearer with blood thirsty gazes, Tristan and Braciaca vanished into thin air, reappearing outside the inn.

"Hurry, before he comes after us" Braciaca stated, running towards the forest.

"I have to face him" Tristan said, not moving as the door to the inn opened.

Rolling his eyes, the elder vampire grabbed hold of his friend. "I'm sure you will quite soon. But I'd rather do it without fifty villagers Armed with wooden stakes standing about with dawn approaching. If this knight is of the famous Round Table, he will track us.

Obeying his friend, Tristan slinked back into the dark forest at the top of the hill away from the village. Dawn was quickly approaching, and it was soon evident there was no caves around to hide in.

Braciaca started to slow down. "The light will soon reach us, Tristan. We have to go back to the village and find a place to hide…the stables perhaps."  
"There must be a cave around here somewhere" Tristan exclaimed.

"Even if there was, these villagers are not far away, they would find us, and while our strength outnumbers them, their stakes would win."

"I can fight them off!" Tristan yelled, pacing in circles.

"Not in the sun you can!"

"YES, I can Braciaca. I can."

Braciaca furrowed his brow, his breathing deep. "How is this possible?"

Tristan could not look at his friend. "I can walk in daylight…I can take a wooden stake to my heart and have it bounce off. I can do all these things…because I am the Chosen one."

At first Braciaca was silent. Scratching his neck, he finally said, "This is the worst time to be playing pranks on me, Tristan. We need to figure out-"

"It's true" Tristan stated in a voice barely audible. "Even as a human I was not fully…my mother….she…she's your Queen. She told me of her plan. I am that missing link. She plans to use me to make you all more powerful."

It seemed like hours went bye as Braciaca searched Tristan's face for truth. "Can it be?" he whispered. "Can you be the One to spare us from this misery?"

"In a few minutes you'll know, but we have to find shelter for you." Tristan scanned the outlying area. "The rocks, over there. Its barely more than 5 feet deep, but it'll have to do for now. I'll fend off the villagers."

As if on queue, distant voices were soon heard. "Go, now!" Tristan called, and Braciaca nodded.

A few moments later they approached, about twenty in all, with Galahad in the forefront. Some bore pitchforks while others had simple wooden stakes.

"We know what you are, Tristan. It is time to pay for the crimes committed against my countryfolk. You will pay for your sins."

"One day, I hope as much. But not today, Galahad. Today I must live." Tristan called. Soon his teeth began to change, with the fangs gnawing their way out as his eyes turned a nasty shade of yellow, matching the sun that soon made its way up in the sky.

"I know of your kind, Tristan. With the sun comes your demise."

"I beg you, Galahad, leave and start a new life. No good will come of this."

For a moment, a ray of fear shone of the Sarmatian knight's face as he realized the sun was now shining brightly down on the vampire. But anger once more replaced that fear.

"I care not how powerful a demon you are! You are no longer my friend! You killed the Tristan I knew the moment you took over his body! And now I will fulfill my destiny, monster."

Ten of them rushed forward, leaving Tristan little time to act. All the training Braciaca had put him through took over, and Tristan sped like lightning around the men, honestly trying not to kill them if he could. His nails were like claws and he lashed out, chopping off some of their stakes. With his fangs wide open he hissed at them, scaring a few away while the others came on strong. He appeared and reappeared behind one, throwing him against a tree as another jumped him. This one he couldn't help but snap his neck. Everytime Galahad approached Tristan simply knocked him away with his strength. One of the villagers managed to get his knife into Tristan's back, but the pain was small and Tristan quickly dealt with the attacker. Five more rushed at him, and Tristan could barely see anything happening infront of him.

After killing all five, Tristan looked behind him. "Perhaps this will get you to fight me" Galahad called, as he and three others came to the rock Braciaca was hiding under. The three of them began to push out the boulder; Tristan raced forward, only to have two attackers come from behind and pierce him. A small delay, but as Tristan looked back, he watched as Braciaca could do nothing but spring forth from his hiding spot as the boulder was lifted and bite into one of his attackers, killing him instantly. As Braciaca turned to unleash his instincts on Galahad, the demon of the sun shone down.

"No!" Tristan yelled.

Braciaca screamed in hideous pain and hid his face as his skin began to peel before the flames came. He slashed wildly at Galahad, slamming him to the ground as soon the flames engulfed his body. Seconds later as Tristan reached him, all that remained was the ashes of his body.

Not believing it to be true, Tristan reached down to feel the ashes for himself. Shaking, he looked to his right as saw Galahad standing, his sword at the ready, a single tear falling down his cheek.

"You took the life of my sister, I murdered your friend. I have made my revenge" he stated, throwing his sword to the ground. "Do what you will to me, demon. My life is no longer worth living."

His heart pounded rapidly. "I will not kill you, Galahad. I am not what you think."

Galahad sighed deeply, his own heart racing as he breathed heavily. "If you will not save me from a life of misery, then you are certainly no friend of mine." Tristan saw him unsheathe his dagger, and before his friend could kill himself, Tristan thrust himself on top of him.

"No knight shall have honor by taking his own life" Tristan said, repeating the words of a code long remembered, in a land at the end of the world. Looking into his friends eyes one last time, Tristan once more let the fangs take control, and powerfully pierced Galahad's neck, the penetration deep as he began to suck the blood out of the body. Galahad had no time to move, he gasped one last time, his eyes open wide as life left his body. As Tristan felt his energy come full force, he let go of the skin, his teeth returning to normal. Sitting up, he stared into the cold dead eyes of his companion. With his hands shaking fiercely, he quickly shut the lids and mouth, as a wave of emptiness spread across the Scout's soul.

A strong winde approached, sending the nearby ashes of Braciaca away. And all that was left was Tristan.


End file.
